Echo Six: Black Ops 7 - Tibetan Fury (10 page)

"Like hell she will," he growled, "I'll wrap a dressing on it myself. That's good enough for me."

The argument was short, and the women prevailed. She pulled up the cuff of his pants and worked for some time with herbs and bandages. When she'd finished, she gestured for him to climb to his feet. Grumbling, he did as she asked, and his eyebrows rose.

"Damn, that feels good, almost like new. My thanks, Ma'am."

Grace translated, and the girl gave the old Admiral a shy smile.

"She's their doctor," she explained to Brooks, "She was training to work in a hospital in Lhasa, but..."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. The Chinese. What was it this time, wearing the wrong color shoes?"

"She treated some Tibetans who were injured during a protest. Our new masters made it clear they were criminals and not entitled to any kind of medical treatment. They sentenced her to five years in a camp of hard labor."

"For treating wounded men and women?"

"Yes. They would have given her ten years, but her father intervened and bribed the magistrate."

He didn't reply. What was there to say? He thanked her again, walked over, and joined Talley.

"We need to make sure when we leave here, we go in fast, get Campbell, and get out of here before they find us. It’s taking too long, and we’ve been lucky to get this far. I'll call Ed Garrick, and fix up for that truck coming in from Nepal to meet us and get us out."

Before he could reply, a young Tibetan girl came over to them carrying a tray laden with food, bowls of soup.

She indicated they should help themselves, and they gulped down the first hot food they'd had in a long time. She handed one to Guy, and Grace smiled.

“It’s hot soup, Sergeant. She said she thought you might be glad of it.”

He took it without a word and started to wolf it down. At least he had the grace to look ashamed when he’d finished.

Brooks finished his food and put down his bowl. "I need to get on the satcom and make that call. Find out if it's safe to go upstairs."

Talley nodded, got to his feet and walked over to Grace, and explained what they needed.

"I'll fix it up right away. They have a simple system down here. Three taps on the wall, and two taps from upstairs if it's clear."

It was clear. There was no sign of any Chinese, and the Buddhist nuns opened the floor of the closet. They crawled out into the kitchen, and Brooks found an open window where he could see the sky and use the satcom.

"Would you like to see around the building?" Grace asked Talley.

"Sure, I've never explored a nunnery."

"I hope not," she grinned.

The tour didn't take long. The building was small and plainly furnished. Yet it was immaculately clean, and it was obvious the occupants took great pride in their spiritual home. The nuns he encountered all wore calm smiles on their faces. Just like the smile he'd seen on Grace's face, when she went into a semi-trance at moments of extreme stress. He resolved to ask her about it later. It could be a useful cure for insomnia.

They returned to the kitchen, and Brooks was packing away the satcom into the canvas case. He was cursing under his breath.

"Problems, Admiral?"

"Ed Garrick, you want to hear the latest? He's out of the office, and his staff said they think he may have a cold, so he took the day off. Fuck it! Oh I’m sorry,” he muttered as he saw Grace.

"So far, everything he's done for us has backfired,” Talley replied, “Maybe we're better off without him."

Brooks stared back at him. "This isn’t some kind of debate. Garrick was briefed to arrange our exfil from this godforsaken place. He’s also supposed to give us backup and support while we're in country, as I wasn't able to set up shop in Kathmandu. So far, we’ve had nothing."

"And no truck from Nepal."

"No, we're on our own. That much is obvious. I’ll deal with him when we get back. Something’s going on, and I intend to find out what.”

If we get back!

Before he could go any further, a nun came into the kitchen and spoke hurriedly to Grace. She turned to them.

"Soldiers, they'll be here in five minutes, no more. We need to get back into the cave."

They had the hatch open ready, and they climbed through and back down into the cave system. The hatch closed, and when they reached the main room, they could see the Tibetans watching them by the light of the oil lamps. Their faces were blank, but there was little doubt they were worried the unexpected visitors could bring State Security soldiers into their refuge.

Talley called Guy and Domenico to join them and explained about the problem with the truck.

"We'll just have to take one from the Chinese," Guy said grimly.

Brooks nodded. "It'll probably come to that. The only other way out of here is on foot over the Himalayas, and I've been told it's one helluva journey."

"We'll worry about that when we have Campbell out of prison," Talley said, "In the meantime, we need to get ready to leave the moment it's dark." He checked his wristwatch, "I estimate we have six hours left, so let's make use of the time. Make sure the men get more food and rest, and every piece of equipment is double-checked. When we leave here, we're going to hit the Chinese so hard they'll regret the day they ever set foot in Tibet. You still okay with the M249, Admiral?" He glanced at the ankle, "I mean, now that you're not so mobile."

Brooks' eyes narrowed. "I told you; she did a good job, that girl. I could carry that machine gun over the Himalayas."

"You may have to," Guy murmured, "If we don't manage to steal a truck, it'll be the only way."

They spent the day resting in the cave, and during the afternoon the Tibetans came around with more hot food. When they finished eating, Talley checked his watch for the tenth time.

"One hour, then we leave. Let's check out everything again."

Each man carried an assault rifle and a sidearm, together with limited ammunition. There were two M249 machine guns, and Buchmann carried an additional weapon, his Punisher, the XM25. Drew Jackson had a supply of explosives, and that was it.

"If we get caught out in the open by the gunships, we're in serious trouble," Guy Welland pointed out, "And there’s another problem, armor. We have no way of dealing with it. If they send armored vehicles after us, APCs or even a tank, we’re defenseless. As this is technically part of China, there's no way our people would send any kind of air support to help us out."

"If we're fast, we'll be able to complete the operation before they even have time to deploy their armor or air assets."

"Those Carl Gustavs we were supposed to bring along weren't just for show, Boss. I guess they anticipated something like this."

He glanced at Admiral Brooks, who nodded.

"Correct. Our operational planning included the possibility of coming up against either gunships or tanks. However, we don't have the missiles, so we have to go with what we have. As Commander Talley said, without them, we'll have to move fast and get out before they have a chance to deploy their heavy stuff."

They stared at him in silence, and he shrugged.

"I know, I know, it's not good. I'm sorry; it shouldn't have happened the way it did."

Talley nodded. "We're here now, so let's do the job, spring Campbell, and go home."

He looked at their faces and could see the skepticism, but there was nothing he could do to even up the odds. They had to take what was on the plate and go with it.

Even if it kills us, that's what they pay us for.

The minutes ticked by, and just before dusk, they climbed up through the cave entrance into the nunnery kitchen. There was no sign of the nuns, and he assumed they were at prayer.

Finally, dusk fell over the region. Talley was about to give the order to move out when suddenly they heard the distinctive sound of truck engines.

He peered out through a narrow window. A line of People's Liberation Army vehicles and troop carriers were crunching across the snow toward them. Ten trucks, and he estimated a half battalion of security troops.

"Damn," Brooks exclaimed from behind him, "Can't anything go right with this operation? It seems as if fate decided to screw us."

Rovere grinned at the Admiral. "My fate cries out, and makes each petty artery in this body as hardy as the Nemean lion's nerve'."

"Yeah, I can guess what that means. We're fucked."

"More or less."

They'd strapped him to a chair, and it took a few moments after he came round to work out where he was. Then he remembered, and he suppressed a groan of agony.

There is no pain.

He began to work on calming his mind, repeating his mantra inside his head, and then silently reciting every prayer he'd ever learned, each one stored away in a part of his brain.

He stopped as the man came forward and stood over him. Major Xu Xilong, uniformed, immaculate, huge and menacing, his sneer undiminished by his failure to beat a confession out of the monk, so far.

"Your rescuers have come for you," the Major said abruptly, "But you knew they would arrive, didn't you? Did your CIA masters arrange it for you?"

He said nothing, although he allowed a faint flicker of hope to flare.

Yes, I guessed they’d come. How could my stepfather not act? My mother would make his life hell if he did nothing and watched the Chinese execute me. What have they sent, Seals, Delta Force? No, they couldn't send US troops. It would constitute a direct attack by the United States on sovereign Chinese territory. Mercenaries perhaps? It can't be anything else. Men who will stand to collect a substantial bounty for making the effort to free me. Yet they will find it impossible to dent the iron security ring the communists have established around Lhasa. They will go home with nothing, and my execution will proceed on schedule.

The flicker of hope died, and then he saw it.

Dear Lord, no! Buddha, protect me.

The electrical apparatus was a table at the side of the interrogation room. The stories of torture, of electrical probes and clamps fastened to the body of prisoners were part of the legend of the Chinese occupation. Now he knew they were true.

Will I be able to withstand it? I must. They must not find out what I know, even if I die a thousand deaths.

 
The Major leaned forward, his eyes glittering.

"How does it feel, knowing your friends are only a few kilometers away, yet they may as well be on the other side of the world? We have hundreds of men searching for them, and it is only a matter of time before they’re located and destroyed. Tell me, who are you spying for? This is your last chance."

"I am a simple monk, nothing more. I spy for no one."

The Major nodded to the nearest soldier, who went to the table and picked up two heavy copper clamps. They were connected to the apparatus with thick, rubber-insulated cables. He carried them to the monk, ripped aside his flimsy robe, and fixed one clamp to each of his nipples. He stood waiting, watching Xilong.

The officer glanced at him, and he returned to the machine. He flicked on a switch and turned a control knob fixed to the center of the panel.

It was like nothing on earth. His body arched in fiery agony, as if he'd been thrown into a furnace. Every fiber, every cell of his being screamed in excruciating agony, and it was only with an incredible effort of will he managed to stop himself crying out.

"More," Major Xilong ordered. The man twisted the knob. This time, it was too much. As if men had attacked him with a thousand blow lamps, searing every square inch of his body with the hot flames. He opened his mouth, and the scream was long and loud.

* * *

They watched the trucks brake to a halt. The nearest was only one hundred meters away from them.

"Any ideas?" Brooks asked him, his voice filled with an anxiety they all shared. Was this to be the end, impossible to get away?

Talley held up a hand for silence and gazed at the row of trucks. Soldiers were jumping down and forming up into platoons, as NCOs shouted orders. He glanced at Brooks.

"They're forming a skirmish line, ready to make another search of the area. Only this time, they mean business. There are many more of them."

"I'm not surprised," Guy murmured, "After we killed their men, they'll be a damn sight more careful. But that doesn't help us deal with them."

"Maybe."

He could feel their tension while he watched the newly arrived enemy. In his mind, he judged distances, the lay of the ground, the shadows, and the trucks themselves. Finally, he had it all together. He told them to study the enemy positions.

"Take a look at that, the nearest truck. There are two men standing next to it, smoking. Can you see the dark line nearby? That's the irrigation ditch we crawled along to get here."

It was impossible to use the NV goggles because the truck headlights were still blazing. But by squinting and concentrating hard, it was possible to see the dark shadow.

"I see it," Rovere said.

"Damned if I can," Brooks complained.

They didn't make any comment. Vision was something that eroded with age, especially night vision.

"I reckon we can snake along the ditch and reach that truck," Talley explained, "If we take out those two soldiers, we should be able to wait until the main body of troops moves away, and then we'll have our transport to the prison."

"I have another idea," Rovere commented, "We could use the snipers to take out the guards from here. It'll eliminate any chance of being seen before we can reach them."

It was an idea, except he wanted one of their uniforms. Just an idea for later, but if the uniform was shredded and covered in blood, it would be useless. In the end, he decided on a compromise. Vince DiMosta would take out one of the soldiers, and at the same moment, Talley would spring from the ditch and take the other man, man-to-man.

"I need a length of wire. I believe Heinrich usually carries something like that."

Guy nodded. "Yeah, he carries a garrote. The old-fashioned way of killing."

"Exactly what I need."

* * *

He crawled along the narrow ditch, hugging the shadows; conscious it would only take a soldier to walk across and relieve himself in the ditch for the whole plan to unravel. Grace was close behind him. He'd taken her along for her knowledge of the language. If any of the hostiles sounded suspicious, a quick call to the two snipers, DiMosta and Whitefeather, would deal with the problem. It was a last resort, and it could throw them into a pitched battle, a battle that could have only one outcome.

When they were close to the truck, he stopped and cautiously raised his head over the lip of the ditch. The two men were oblivious to their presence, still sucking greedily on their cigarettes. No other soldiers were nearby. He gripped the length of steel wire he'd taken from Buchmann, rose to a crouched position like a sprinter on his blocks, and keyed his mic. His voice was a murmur, hardly noisier than the sound of the wind.

"This is Echo One. Go."

He was already up and running before the soldier fell. At first, they both turned toward him, their mouths starting to open as they saw a man rushing at them. Then the taller man was hurled back by the heavy sniper bullet, his rifle falling to the snow. The second soldier, a shorter man looked around in astonishment at his comrade. It was all the opportunity Talley needed. He jumped, landed on the man's back, and looped the wire around his neck.

He started to pull, but although short, his opponent was strong, very strong. A weight lifter, a bodybuilder maybe, but even though he'd dropped his assault rifle in the shock of the attack, he fought back with a strength that was astonishing. Instead of making fruitless efforts to tear the steel wire from his neck, his hands gripped Talley's wrists, and his fingers dug into the tendons and veins. It was like being held in a hydraulic machine, and Talley knew he couldn't keep up the pressure for much longer. The fight was already kicking up snow, and it only needed one of the other soldiers to look around, and they'd be finished.

He redoubled his efforts, and it became a test of wills. Suddenly, the man went slack, and Talley felt the shock of something hitting his body. It took a few seconds for him to realize the man had been shot, a follow-up bullet from one of his snipers.

Talley lowered him gently to the snow, lay beside the body, and carefully looked around. As far as he could tell, the fight had gone unnoticed. He waved to Grace, who was watching him from the ditch. She crawled over to him.

"Take off his uniform; it should fit you, and put it on. It’s not too badly damaged. Hurry."

She grimaced but did as he ordered and started unbuttoning the Ministry of State Security uniform. He keyed his mic.

"This is Echo One. We're good. Start moving along the ditch, but keep very low. There are still a lot of soldiers in the area."

"On the way." He recognized Guy's voice.

He waited while Grace pulled on the uniform and put the steel helmet over her head. The fit was good enough.

"Stand next to the truck, pick up a rifle, and look as if you mean business. Try and look Chinese."

"How do I do that?" she asked, her expression puzzled.

"Improvise. You'll be driving, Comrade Grace, as soon as we get everyone aboard."

She did as he ordered, and they waited while the rest of the men crawled along the ditch, ran across to the truck, and clambered into the rear. Admiral Brooks, claiming rank, joined them in the cab. He nodded to her. She climbed into the seat, started the engine, and drove away. She was good, and to an observer it looked as if she'd been driving a truck the whole of her life.

"I spent a summer on a farm belonging to relations," she explained, "Everything from a John Deere to a Combine Harvester."

"I didn't see that in your file," Brooks grunted.

She darted him a surprised glance. "They showed you my file?"

The truck swerved slightly.

"Concentrate on your driving," he growled, "Yeah, Garrick showed me your file."

Talley saw her expression go bleak, and he wondered what secrets were in her past.

Whatever they are,
it’s her business, not mine.

She drove in silence toward the prison. The roar of the powerful diesel engine was deafening, as was the wind howling through the ill-fitting cab doors. Finally, they came out from behind a low range of hills. They saw in front of them a piece of flat ground stretching all the way to the horizon; a bleak, open, desolate place at the mercy of the harsh weather that continually tormented the country during the winter months.

He knew there'd be upward of fifty guards down there, with searchlights and machine guns in the guard towers, as well as razor wire and an electrified fence to deal with. He started to wonder if his recent confidence had been misplaced. They were all of the opinion the operation should have been aborted, except him, and Grace, of course.

Am I leading them to their deaths? Will the final resting place of my men be somewhere down in that barbed wire hell?

He pushed the thought aside. It was precisely because the place was a barbed wire hell he needed to make certain the operation was a success. No man, nor beast, deserved the conditions the Chinese subjected their prisoners to inside that place of darkness, torture, and public executions.

Campbell’s an American citizen. There’s no way he should suffer that kind of fate, whether or not he has good connections.

It occurred to him the ominous barbed wire could be a factor in their favor. The wire, the electrified fence, the guard towers, and searchlights, all had a single purpose. To keep the prisoners in the compound, to prevent them escaping. Had these people given any thought to defense against an attack from outside? Probably not, the prison guards were not frontline combat troops, so they were unlikely to be ready to fight off an assault from outside. He was counting on it.

Only two features broke up the landscape ahead of them. The first was the small village that housed some of the guards and supplied their needs. The second and most striking feature was Prison Number 529. Four hundred meters square, dark, ominous, and deadly. Surrounded by razor wire, dominated by the four guard towers, one on each corner. There were twenty huge huts for the prisoners, as well as smaller structures for the camp administrators. Inside the main compound, there were several vehicles parked in a separate area, cordoned off from the rest of the camp.

There was an empty square between the huts, with a raised wooden platform in the center, the site of the prisoner executions. David Campbell would soon be forced to climb onto that platform to endure his final moments.

The place looked much like the photos he'd flipped through on the aircraft. And yet it was different; gloomy, stark, and terrifying for those contained within that wire. The wind was strong, and the normally chill mountain air felt even colder than expected. This place was designed to break a man's spirit. To sap his will, by subjecting his body to brutally inhumane conditions.

The ultimate aim, of course, was to destroy any pretensions to an independent Tibet, or freedom to worship Buddhism. It was a factory to produce robots, men who would rush to obey their captors just for the chance to eat a bowl of weak soup, or be spared even more harsh and cruel conditions. Part of a wider system to reduce Tibet to a Chinese slave state.

He noted the administration building at the side of the camp square. There was a light burning inside and another outside. It meant there'd be somebody at work. The office would probably be manned day and night. Despite the general lack of electric lighting in the areas outside of Lhasa, the camp perimeter was well illuminated, with overhead floodlights spaced at ten-meter intervals. They were mounted on poles spaced between the two wire fences, the outer razor wire fence and the inner electrified fence. The bright light meant there was no way for more than two or three men to approach without being seen in the artificial glare, and even those men would have to crawl most of the way. A larger force would have to drive in through the main gate, which was exactly what Talley planned, more or less.